


A Good King To His People

by Sita_Z



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pre-Slash, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 04:44:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sita_Z/pseuds/Sita_Z
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur thinks that getting Merlin in trouble is a laugh. But it really isn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first try in this fandom, so I'm still finding my feet...  
> It can be read as Gen or Pre-slash, both work fine. The "dubious consent" tag refers to an incident involving two minor OC's (off screen).  
> Enjoy!

To Arthur, it had always been something of a joke. A laugh, nothing more. Why not make fun of a servant’s freckled face – “Did you stand too close when they painted the maypole?”  - and why not share a laugh when one of the knights accidentally-on purpose bumped into one of the scullery maids, spilling water all down her front? Of course the maid would shriek and try to cover her wet chest, of course the knights would whoop and wolf-whistle, but it was all good fun. No one took it seriously, the maid included.

 

When Merlin caught the target butt with his foot and told Arthur that the joke was over, Arthur hadn’t understood. He hadn’t even thought about Merlin’s meaning, and it was only much later when he realized that Merlin had actually been quite brave. To stand up to a knight - several knights, in fact - with nothing but a smile on his face and the voice of reason on his side… it took guts. More guts than you needed to attack an untrained youth with a mace. But these thoughts only came years later. At the time, all Arthur saw was a gangly young peasant who had volunteered to be chased around the marketplace for reasons best known to himself. Not for a moment had he imagined how it would be if he actually split open the boy’s head, if his blood and brains spattered over the dirt road and the laughter died on people’s faces. As so many helpful, if unpleasant thoughts, this one too took several years in coming.

 

As Arthur’s manservant, Merlin no longer stood up to him like that. He acted as most servants did – grinning awkwardly at jokes made at his expense, ducking when things were thrown at him, never losing his inane smile. Of course, he told Arthur where to stuff it, not to be a ‘prat’ – in matters that concerned the kingdom, Gwen or whatever evil magical being had crawled out of the bog to attack Camelot this week (sometimes all three). But he never defended himself. He let Arthur have his laughs, let him think that it was a nobleman’s prerogative to do so. Maybe – and this thought crossed Arthur’s mind only when his beard was gray and he’d seen Merlin set fire to the sky and ride dragons as if they were the tamest of mares – maybe Merlin himself had known no better at the time. No matter what the legends said, Arthur knew that the Great Warlock wasn’t omniscient. He was, in fact, a bit of an idiot. Sometimes.

 

But there were moments, early on, when something changed in Arthur, sometimes without his realizing it until much later. Many of those moments made him wince when he remembered them, and some made him blush in shame. And there was that one time, that one horrible day, that he couldn’t remember without wanting to go out and do something extremely noble and kingly, as Merlin put it. It was how the poor tanner’s family from the low town had ended up with a two-story house in Camelot’s best street, why Mercia had celebrated for three days after King Arthur had forgiven all their war reparations, and how Aelfen, the kitten Sir Percival’s granddaughter carried everywhere, was saved from a tree by the King himself. These things helped, but they never quite erased the memory of what had happened that day. What Arthur had caused to happen, however unintentionally.

 

It began, for once not with dragons or plotting sorcerers, but with a simple visit from the neighboring kingdom of Bernicia. Yuletide was almost upon the land, and Uther had invited King Edwin, his wife and sons to spend the holiday at Camelot and, in Uther’s words, “celebrate a decade of peace”. At the time, Arthur hadn’t cared much why Edwin had been invited; he was simply glad that there was no princess he would have to entertain while Uther and the visiting king watched them shiftily from across the table. The last one had been ‘stunningly beautiful’ (in Uther’s advertising speech before her arrival), had charmed the entire court with her wit and graceful conversation, and had, in a private moment, informed Arthur that she carried a dagger in her boot, just in case he got any ideas. Her handmaiden had given Arthur a look that foretold in no uncertain terms the fate of any suitor who dared touch her princess, ‘her’ being the operative word. Arthur was glad, in any case, that Edwin only had sons to bring along.

 

“I wouldn’t rejoice too soon, sire,” Sir Leon said with uncharacteristic gloom when Arthur mentioned this fortunate turn of events.

 

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked, tossing his vambraces down next to his discarded chainmail, right into a snowdrift. Training was over, and Merlin was late _again_ to pick up his armor, never mind helping him undress.

 

“Well, they say…” Leon flushed slightly. “I mean, not that I listen to gossip, sire, but it is known that Princes Eadwig and Eglan are... not too easy to get along with.”

 

“How so?”

 

“I don’t wish to speak disrespectfully of our royal guests,” Leon said piously. “I should not have mentioned it. My apologies, sire.”

 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You know I don’t give a damn about that, Leon. Come on, I’d like to know what I’ve got to look forward to this time.”

 

“Well… I still recall the first time King Edwin visited. I was a but a little boy then, and the princes only a little older than me. They tormented their nanny by putting spiders down her dress, and fed the horses sugar cubes with pebbles inside. I believe you were too young to remember, sire, how they…” Leon broke off, looking embarrassed.

 

“How they what?” Arthur asked, not sure if he actually wanted to know, from the look on Leon’s face.

 

“Well, you were only two, sire, and they thought it would be funny to lock you into a cupboard in the armory. You’d been in there for several hours when the King found you.”

 

To Leon’s credit, he kept a completely straight face. Arthur imagined his two-year-old self, no doubt bawling like a banshee, being rescued from the cupboard by his father, and felt his cheeks grow warm.

 

“I’m sure they must’ve grown out of it,” he said, with a slightly forced grin. “They can’t go around locking people in cupboards anymore.”

 

“No, but from what one hears, they take great delight in tormenting their servants.”

 

“Sounds like they’re right royal prats,” a voice said behind them. Arthur turned around, and of course, there was Merlin, ears and nose red with cold and grinning in a way that told Arthur he’d heard it all, including the cupboard incident.

 

“ _Mer_ lin.” Arthur unbuckled his sword belt and dropped it on top of the messy heap that was his armor. “Now don’t you hurry or anything, I’m sure the demands on your time are manifold and far more important than attending me at training.”

 

“They are, actually.” Merlin smiled his usual ear-to-ear smile, which faded slightly when he saw the armor in the snow. “Do you _have_ to do that? Do you know how long it takes to rub that chainmail dry, what with all the little holes and everything?”

 

Leon snorted, trying to cover it up with a cough. Smiling sweetly, Arthur knelt down next to Merlin in the snow. “I’m sorry, how inconsiderate of me. Would you like me to help you?”

 

“No-” Merlin raised his hands, but of course stood no chance against Arthur’s tackle.

 

“Why, I’d be happy to show you how it’s done. You’ll need a cloth-” Arthur grabbed a handful of snow, “-and then all you have to do is rub really hard, like _this_.”

 

Merlin yowled and struggled, trying to push Arthur off, but to no avail. Arthur made sure to get snow into Merlin’s mouth _and_ nose, and stuff the rest down his collar before he got up again.

 

“Now, if you need another lesson, feel free to ask,” he said, watching with his arms folded as Merlin struggled back to his feet, face even redder and wet hair sticking up like a mad hedgehog. “The sentiment might not be mutual, but you know I’ll always make time for you.”

 

Merlin muttered something which sounded suspiciously like ‘dollop head’. He gathered up the scattered armor, balancing it in a precarious heap (Arthur had no doubt that at least one part would fall down with a spectacular clatter before Merlin reached the armory; sometimes he wondered if most of the dents in it came from training or from Merlin’s loving care).

 

“If t-that’s all, s- _sire_?”

 

Arthur waved him off. “You’ll attend me at the banquet tonight, of course. And Merlin-” He watched as Merlin turned and, naturally, dropped one of the vambraces in the process. “Do be on time for once?”

 

“I’m always on t-time.” With that, Merlin walked away in what he obviously deemed a dignified retreat. His patched winter jacket was soaked through, as was the seat of his trousers, Arthur noticed with a smirk. Royal prat indeed.

 

“It’s been unusually cold these past few days,” Leon remarked, apropos of nothing. Arthur nodded in agreement. He could feel the chill even through his padded doublet and fur-lined gloves.

 

“Let’s get inside then.” He clapped Leon on the shoulder. “Nothing like some hot mulled wine after a good day’s training, eh?”

 

Leon followed him, and if he rolled his eyes a little, Arthur never saw it. At the time, he didn’t really pay attention to such things.

 

###

 

King Edwin and his entourage arrived just before sunset, and it took only ten minutes to convince Arthur that Leon’s information (knights didn’t _gossip_ ) had been correct – Eadwig and Eglan were, there was no other word for it, prats. Eadwig had brought his wife, a slight girl who couldn’t have been more than sixteen, and had the hunted look of someone living in constant fear of harassment. And sure enough, when Eadwig helped her dismount, Arthur saw him pinch her painfully in the backside. Next to him, Morgana stiffened and hissed something to Gwen. Both of them glared at Eadwig, who took no notice whatsoever.

 

Eglan was as stocky and broad-shouldered as his older brother, wrapped in a fur coat that made him look like a walking boulder. “Prince Arthur,” he said, squeezing Arthur’s hand as if he wanted to crush his bones. “You’ve grown since our last visit – though not by much!” He let out a booming laugh, showing two rows of perfect yellow teeth. “Still not too big to get caught in small spaces, I’d say!”

 

“Prince Eglan.” Arthur squeezed back. “I can see that the rumors about the food shortage in Bernicia must have been true.”

 

Uther shot him a look, and Arthur had to admit that it was childish, but what the hell, Eglan had started it. Eadwig, in the meantime, had moved on to greet Morgana.

 

“My lady,” he said, leaning over her hand while his eyes lingered on her breasts. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

Morgana yanked her hand back. “Likewise, my lord. And your wife,” she added pointedly.

 

“Oh,” Eadwig nodded towards the pale girl behind him. “May I present the Lady Lynet.”

 

Morgana and Gwen drew the girl between them, their arms around her as they turned their backs to Eadwig. “Lynet, welcome. You must be tired from the journey. Come on, let’s retreat to the bower while the men do their talking. Do you like honey wine and ginger bread?”

 

Lynet looked slightly intimidated, but seemed glad to follow them inside. Arthur bit back a grin at the look on Eadwig’s face. _First round goes to Morgana._

 

A loud crash at the bottom of the stairs distracted him. One of Edwin’s servants, a boy about Lynet’s age, had slipped on the ice and dropped the bags he was carrying. Their contents spilled into the muddy snow as the boy scrabbled around, trying to stuff it all back where it belonged.

 

“Wulfgar, you idiot, that had better not been my surcoat!” Eglan rolled his eyes at Arthur. “Really, that useless lump needs a good kick once a day to get him to do anything right.”

 

Before Arthur could think of anything to say, Merlin had pushed past him and was helping Wulfgar repack the bags. “It’s okay,” Arthur heard him say. “I slip here all the time. Spilled half of Arthur’s breakfast today on my way from the kitchen.”

 

Wulfgar smiled a little, and Arthur resolved to order a double breakfast from now on. He knew only too well that when Merlin said ‘all the time’, he really meant ‘all the time’.

 

Things didn’t improve much during the banquet. Camelot’s cooks had pulled out all the stops, and the food was delicious – there were meat pies and roasts, all manner of poultry, sturgeons cooked in parsley and vinegar, Arthur’s beloved herb-crusted capons, an enormous sugar cake shaped like the Pendragon coat of arms and adorned with gilded plums, a jelly dyed in Bernicia’s black and silver, and of course flagons of mead, ale and Camelot’s finest vintage. Even Uther, who never paid much attention to food, smiled appreciatively at the sight of the laden tables.

 

“A happy Yuletide to all of us, and may our esteemed guests enjoy their stay!”

 

Everyone applauded as Uther sat back down. Eglan clapped his hands twice in a perfunctory manner, then picked up his fork and proceeded to clean his nails with it.

 

“In France,” he said, “they make the most delicious flambéed quails in cognac. Have you been to France?”

 

“Not yet,” Arthur said, holding out his glass for Merlin to fill.

 

Eglan wiped his fork on the tablecloth, inspecting his nails. “I accompanied my uncle to Paris last year. _Quelle ville – envoûtante_!”

 

Arthur smiled through gritted teeth. “It sounds fascinating.”

 

Eglan laughed his obnoxious toothy laugh. “Oh, it is – certainly a change to the rustic life you enjoy in these parts.” He held up his glass. “Wulfgar! _Plus de vin_!”

 

Wulfgar came stumbling over, holding two flagons and looking helplessly from one to the other.

 

“ _More win_ e, you oaf! Really,” Eglan rolled his eyes at Arthur. “ _C’est scandaleux_!”

 

Arthur had a feeling that he might empty his own glass over Eglan’s head if he had to listen to this for much longer. He concentrated on his capon, and was glad about the distraction when Morgana arrived, followed by Lady Lynet and Gwen. Morgana was often late on these occasions – all the better to make a grand entrance, Arthur suspected. He had to admit that her calculation had paid off today. There was not a single knight or courtier who didn’t look up as the three women entered: Morgana resplendent in her favorite green dress, her hair pinned in an ornate knot, Gwen in a flowing gown with an embroidered bodice that flattered her form, and little Lady Lynet in a blue and silver dress, her long blond hair trailing down her back.

 

“My ladies.” King Edwin got up and bowed to Morgana. “May I have the honor of escorting you to your seat, Lady Morgana?”

 

“It is my great pleasure, sire.” Her hand in Edwin’s, Morgana swept past Eadwig and Eglan as if they didn’t exist, and sat down next to Uther. “Come, Lynet, you _must_ try our almond pastries.”

 

Lynet smiled at Morgana. She looked far less frightened than before. “I’d love to.”

 

Eadwig, Arthur saw, was watching them with narrowed eyes, his knife clutched in one fist.

 

Eglan seemed to have noticed as well. “Quite a minx, your Lady Morgana,” he said in an undertone, leering at her. “Tell me – is she a spirited one?”

 

Arthur found it hard not to grimace at the man’s tone. “Lady Morgana upholds her honor and the honor of Camelot.” _Besides, Sir Leon would have your head if he saw you looking at her like that_ , he did not add. There was no need to tell this slimebag about Camelot’s shyest knight and his undying devotion to the King’s ward.

 

Eglan smirked and held up his glass. “Wine, Wulfgar!”

 

Wulfgar hurried over, a flagon in his hands. Arthur knew it would happen half a second before the boy himself did – he saw one of Wulfgar’s feet catch on the protruding stone slab, saw him lose his balance, eyes wide as he flailed and fell. The flagon shattered on the floor, wine splashing on the diners close by. Wulfgar himself lay stunned in a pool of spilled Malvasia and glass shards.

 

Eglan jumped up. “Wulfgar, you thrice-damned _fool_!” He kicked the boy in the ribs. “I’ve had enough of your incompetence. You’re the worst servant I’ve ever known!”

 

Arthur put a hand on Eglan’s arm. “No harm done, Eglan. I assure you we have plenty more of those in our wine cellar. As for the worst servant-” He grinned a little and glanced at Merlin, who was helping Wulfgar to his feet. “I’m afraid that title was taken long since by Merlin here.”

 

Merlin glared at him, and Arthur raised his eyebrows in response. At least Eglan’s attention was no longer on Wulfgar, who had turned away, sniffling and wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

 

“Worst servant, eh?” Eglan looked Merlin up and down. “Even worse than this useless dung beetle? Its hard to believe, Arthur.”

 

“I assure you.” Arthur’s grin broadened. Eglan might be an ass, but this was turning out to be fun. “No one beats Merlin at being useless. Not a day has passed when my meals weren’t cold, my chambers weren’t a mess, my socks didn’t have holes in them and my fires were actually lit when I went to bed. Not to mention that he can’t cross the courtyard without getting distracted by a funny cloud or a pretty butterfly.”

 

Merlin mouthed something at him that Arthur couldn’t decipher – not that he didn’t get the message.

 

Eglan grinned. “A wager then, Arthur. You lend me your _Merlin_ for a day, and I’ll inflict Wulfgar’s services on you for the same time. After that, we compare notes and see who really has the worst servant.”

 

Arthur looked from Eglan to Merlin, whose mouth had dropped open in apparent outrage. He’d been about to refuse the ‘wager’ – Eglan was too much of an arrogant bastard – but seeing Merlin’s indignation, he couldn’t resist.

 

“Very well then,” he said, trying hard not to laugh at the utter disbelief on Merlin’s face. “You have yourself a bet, Eglan. Merlin will serve you until noon tomorrow, and I’ll take Wulfgar as my manservant. I’m sure it will be a welcome relief.”

 

Wulfgar’s chin trembled. Feeling slightly guilty, Arthur smiled at him. “Come on, it’s not that bad. I don’t bite.”

 

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Merlin muttered, and was promptly slapped on the back of his head by Eglan.

 

“Watch your mouth! And clean up that mess – don’t just stand there!”

 

Rubbing the spot Eglan had hit, Merlin disappeared, presumably to get a mop and bucket. Arthur sat back down. Merlin usually snapped out of his sulks fairly quickly, smiling reluctantly at one of Arthur’s jokes, pushing back when Arthur playfully poked him in the side. This time would be no different.

 

When Merlin came back and began to mop up the spilled wine, Arthur was back to ignoring Eglan’s prattle about France and the French girls who (allegedly) threw themselves at the feet of handsome knights from Albion. He ate too many capons, drank too much spiced wine, sang along loudly (and out of tune) when some of the knights broke into a rendition of “Sweet Elwyna, the Tavern Keeper”, and had soon forgotten about his wager with Eglan. There was a moment of confusion when he staggered (walked, definitely walked) back to his chambers, and it wasn’t Merlin helping him out of his clothes, but a scared-looking boy with dirty blond hair. The moment passed quickly, however – after several glasses of Malvasia, Arthur tended to just run with these things as they happened.

 

He slept well that night, as one tends to do under a heap of heavy fur blankets. He woke late, finding that the fire in his chambers had been stoked and breakfast set out on the table – raisins, nuts and dried peaches, was this Merlin’s idea of a joke? Not that Arthur was particularly hungry, which was probably the fault of the goblin that was trying to work its way out of Arthur’s skull with a blunt axe. Dear gods, couldn’t Merlin have foreseen this and gone to Gaius to get that disgusting hangover concoction of his?

 

Someone, probably his sadist of a manservant, had opened the curtains to a sunny, blue-skied day. Shielding his eyes, Arthur staggered to his dressing table to splash his face. A second later, he almost overturned the bowl as a flurry of knocks came from the door. Whoever it was seemed to be in an indecent hurry.

 

“What!? If that’s you, Mer-”

 

“Arthur!” The door burst open, and it was very definitely not Merlin. It was Gwen, her hair flying everywhere as if she’d run the entire way to his chambers. “I mean, sire! You’ve got to hurry – I mean to say, please come quickly!”

 

“Guinevere,” Arthur held up a hand, “calm down, I’m sure it’s not-”

 

“It’s Merlin!”

 

“Merlin what?”

 

Gwen bit her lip. “He’s in trouble, sire. They-” She swallowed. “I think they’re going to flog him.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Arthur strode into the great hall five minutes later, he was greeted by a scene that was only too familiar – his father on the throne, surrounded by stern-faced court advisors, the culprit kneeling on the floor in front of them. Only this time, the culprit was familiar, too.

 

Eglan was there, side by side with Eadwig. Both of them glowered at Arthur as he came in. Merlin turned his head as well, and Arthur felt a funny jolt somewhere close to his stomach. Merlin’s left eye was swollen shut, and there was an ugly bruise beginning to bloom along his jaw line.

 

He swallowed the sudden fury rising inside him. “What’s going on? Who – who did this?”

 

Eglan stepped forward. “My lords, I’m sorry to disturb our Yuletide celebrations with such an unpleasant matter, but we, my brother and I, cannot let such an insult to our honor pass unnoticed.”

 

“What happened?” Uther asked. “Has my son’s manservant offended you in some way?”

 

“He has indeed!” It was Eadwig this time, staring at Merlin as if he were a disgusting stain on an otherwise gleaming floor. “This filthy dog dared lay hands on my wife – dared insult her honor!”

 

Arthur couldn’t help it: he laughed. “ _Merlin_? You’re not serious.”

 

“I caught him at it!” Eadwig shouted, red-faced. “He was there, outside my brother’s chambers, and she was _in his arms_!”

 

“We weren’t doing anything!” Merlin’s voice sounded strangely muffled, maybe because half of his face was too swollen to speak properly. “She was crying – I was just trying to comfort her! She said – she said Prince Eglan had –”

 

“Shut up, you little shit!” Eglan kicked Merlin in the stomach, hard enough to make him curl in on himself. “Shut your-”

 

Arthur wasn’t quite sure how it happened – there were a few frenzied seconds, then he found himself standing over a fallen Eglan, his sword drawn and pointing at the man’s chest. “If you do that again, I’ll run you through where you stand!”

 

“Arthur!” Uther snapped. He’d jumped up, as had King Edwin when Arthur had drawn his sword. “Let Eglan free, now!”

 

Reluctantly, Arthur stepped back, sheathing his sword. His head was still pounding; whether from his sudden rush of anger or the hangover, he couldn’t tell.

 

“Now,” Uther said in a hard tone. “Let’s settle this in a reasonable manner. Prince Eadwig, you claim your wife’s honor has been compromised. Has Lady Lynet anything to say to this accusation?”

 

Lynet’s eyes were red from crying. She looked paler than ever, and didn’t raise her head as she spoke. “No,” she whispered.

 

“Come now,” Uther said, not unkindly. “You must remember what happened. Did Merlin – proposition you?”

 

Lynet merely stared at the floor.

 

“She’s afraid,” Morgana said into the silence. “She’s afraid to tell the truth, can’t you see that?”

 

King Edwin stepped forward. His face looked strained, and he seemed to avoid his sons’ eyes. “Uther – I don’t think there is any need for prolonged discussion of the matter. My son will agree to let the incident go if the servant is punished for his transgression, and we will speak of it no more. I would be greatly saddened if this marred the relations between our two kingdoms.”

 

Uther gave him a long look, then nodded. “You are right, of course. There is no need to drag this out unnecessarily. The servant will be punished-” He raised a hand, silencing Eadwig and Arthur before they could speak. “He will receive ten lashes with a braided whip and spend the day and the following night in the dungeon. After that, we will let the matter rest.”

 

Eadwig’s face was still red, but he was no longer looking at Merlin. He was staring at Eglan, and Arthur thought he had never seen such hate on a man’s face.

 

“Thank you, Uther,” Edwin said, still not looking at either of his sons. “Let us enjoy the rest of our visit and celebrate Yuletide as a time of peace and prosperity.”

 

“Indeed.” Uther snapped his fingers at two of the guards. “Take the servant to the courtyard and fetch the whipmaster.”

 

Feeling as if he might be sick, Arthur watched as the guards grabbed Merlin under the arms and began to drag him to the door. He waited until Edwin and his sons had turned away, then went over to his father. It was hard to keep his voice down, not to shout, but he knew that no matter what, he must not disgrace Uther in front of the court.

 

“Father, I know Merlin would never do something like that. You know him, he’s little more than a boy and he has no social graces whatsoever. I’m sure he meant Lady Lynet no harm. I – I assigned him to Eglan as a joke… it’s my fault he ended up in this situation.”

 

Arthur had expected anger, but Uther merely looked at him. “I know it is.”

 

“Then don’t punish him for something he didn’t do! Please, Father.”

 

“What would you have me do, Arthur? Shame Edwin and his sons in front of the entire court by digging into the matter? It would destroy everything we’ve worked for these last ten years. I will not endanger the peace between our kingdoms over this.”

 

“Merlin didn’t do anything!”

 

“No,” Uther said evenly. “He didn’t. You did, and he will suffer for it. This isn’t the last time this will happen, Arthur.”

 

He turned and left. Arthur stood there, feeling as if he’d been struck a blow on the training field, unexpected and straight to the gut. Maybe that would be a good thing. Maybe it was exactly what he deserved.

 

He stood there for a few more seconds, then forced himself to move, to follow the crowd as they went to watch the diplomatic sleight of hand that was about to be executed in the courtyard. He wasn’t going to leave Merlin alone in this.

 

###

 

Arthur had seen men whipped before – had watched scenes like this ever since he was a small boy. His father hadn’t made him watch executions until he was fourteen, but he had impressed upon his young son what happened to men and women who broke the law, even if their crimes weren’t severe enough to warrant the death penalty. He’d watched, and cried in his nanny’s lap afterwards, until he got used to it and no longer cried.

 

Except that you didn’t get used to it. Ever.

 

What he hated most about it was the crowd. Some of them were compassionate, others gleeful, but they all watched, all stayed until it was over, as if it were normal for a group of human beings to stand there and do nothing as one of them was tormented until they screamed.

 

As they dragged Merlin onto the scaffold, made him take off his shirt and forced him to his knees, Arthur noticed that only few faces in the crowd showed any kind of anticipation. Most of them were servants who knew Merlin, and it seemed that none of them wanted to see him hurt. Not that Arthur was surprised. There was something about Merlin, and it affected most people. He sensed it now, that general air of dismay, as if many of them were close to breaking the silence and demanding of their king to put a stop to this.

 

But none of them did. The silence stretched as the whipmaster climbed the stairs, unfurled the whip and took up the position.

 

Arthur heard a sob close by, and saw Gwen crying into Morgana’s shoulder. Morgana’s face was free of tears. She was staring at Uther, Edwin and the two princes, and Arthur could see that in this moment, she hated them for what they were – men, kings, people who terrorized sixteen-year-old girls and sent others to be brutalized in the courtyard.

 

The first crack of the whip was unnaturally loud. Merlin cried out – of course he did; Arthur had never seen anyone endure a whipping and not give voice to their pain. Some tried, but they failed. Some screamed until they fainted.

 

Merlin did not faint. After the fifth or sixth lash, he began to sob; great gasping sobs, as if the whip was driving all the air out of his lungs. After the eighth lash, his knees gave way and he sagged down, held up only by his wrists which had been tied to the pole. The whip fell twice more, and each time Merlin gave a strangled sound, as if he had no strength left to scream.

 

The inside of Arthur’s mouth tasted strange, and he noticed in an absentminded sort of way that he had bitten himself. He wanted to spit the blood into the snow, wanted to see it red on white like an angry outcry, but didn’t. People were still watching.

 

The whipmaster rolled up his instrument and stepped back. Merlin hung on the pole like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Only the blood trickling down his back attested to the fact that he was indeed alive, and probably freezing, bare-chested in the cold winter air.

 

Arthur began to walk towards the scaffold. The crowd parted in front of him, some scrambling out of his way as if they were scared of him. Maybe they were. At that moment, Arthur didn’t care.

 

He climbed the steps, pushing the whipmaster out of the way – a petty revenge, for the man had done nothing he wasn’t paid for. He knelt down next to Merlin, afraid to touch any of that bloodied, broken skin. Finally, he settled for wrapping one arm around Merlin’s chest to support him, and cutting through the thrice-damned ropes with his dagger. Merlin’s wrists fell limply to his sides, and he sagged against Arthur. The movement jostled his back, making him moan softly.

 

Arthur tossed his dagger onto the planks. “Can’t you see he can’t walk? Someone help me already!”

 

“Shut up, Arthur.” It was Morgana. She knelt down next to Merlin, took his other arm and helped Arthur lift him to his feet. There would be blood stains on her fine silk dress, and they wouldn’t come out, but Morgana didn’t seem to care. Nor did she care about the looks she was getting from the crowd, and of course, Uther. Arthur knew there would be a lecture about propriety and station, a blazing row and an icy, weeklong silence between the two, but that was how these things went.

 

They helped Merlin down the steps and across the courtyard. His face was pale and sweaty, his eyes half-closed, but he seemed determined not to be carried, to walk on his own two feet. Arthur thought of all the times he had called Merlin a weakling and a girl. He had seen battleworn knights cry like children after far lighter whippings, and here was his idiot manservant, trying to stay upright with half his skin hanging off his back.

 

“He is to be taken to the dungeon,” Uther said somewhere behind them. Arthur merely nodded. He hadn’t intended to make things worse by interfering with Merlin’s sentence. If he did, he knew it wouldn’t be him who would bear the brunt of the King’s anger.

 

Halfway down the steps, they had to stop when Merlin retched and vomited watery gruel onto the wall. Some of it spattered the hem of Morgana’s dress, which was already soaked with mud and snow.

 

“S-sorry,” Merlin gasped. “Sorry -”

 

Morgana used her sleeve to wipe his mouth. “Don’t be stupid.”

 

Arthur ordered the guards to open the first cell – the one that had a rickety old cot with an actual mattress, put there in case a nobleman ever found himself in Camelot’s dungeon. They helped Merlin lie down on his stomach. The cell was cold, but Arthur knew they couldn’t put the shirt back on him; it would stick to his back and aggravate the wounds.

 

Gwen, who had followed them, brushed Merlin’s hair out of his forehead. “I’ll go and see if Gaius is back.”

 

The old physician usually spent the morning in the city doing rounds. Arthur didn’t want to think about his face when he found his young charge in the dungeon, barely conscious after a brutal flogging.

 

“You should go, too, Morgana,” he said. “Father’s going to be angry enough as it is.”

 

She was about to protest, but Arthur held up a hand. “I’ll stay. I won’t leave this cell until Merlin does, Yuletide celebrations be damned.”

 

She held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll have some things sent down for you.”

 

When she had left, Arthur sat down on the stone floor next to the cot. Merlin looked at him out of half-closed eyes.

 

“You clotpole,” he said. “The King’s not going to like this.”

 

“The King can-” Arthur broke off. “Never mind. I’m staying.”

 

Uncharacteristically, Merlin said nothing, just sighed and closed his eyes. Arthur watched him for a while, wondering if it was possible for someone to fall asleep like this. Maybe it was the shock setting in.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. The words formed a white a cloud in the cold air.

 

Merlin sighed again, not bothering to open his eyes. “I know.”

 

###

 

“This should help.” Gaius wiped his hands on a cloth and sighed. “It’s the best I can do for now.”

 

Arthur nodded. The physician had spent the last half hour painstakingly covering every welt on Merlin’s back with a lumpy salve smelling strongly of yarrow and rose water, plants that would draw the bad humors out of the wounds and allow them to heal. There would be scars, of course. Merlin would carry those for many years, perhaps forever.

 

“He should be given water every hour or so, and maybe some broth, if he’s up to it. If you notice a fever setting in, come and get me at once.”

 

There was no ‘sire’ clipped to the end of Gaius’ order, nor did the old man meet Arthur’s eyes. It wasn’t often that Gaius got well and truly angry, but this time, he was. Arthur sensed that only years of restraint in Uther’s presence kept Gaius from giving the Crown Prince a piece of his mind.

 

“I’ll take care of him, Gaius. I’m – I’m truly sorry.”

 

Gaius’ face softened a little. “I’m glad to hear it… sire.”

 

Merlin coughed. “Are – are you done?” He blinked at Arthur. “He didn’t stick any of his leeches anywhere, did he?”

 

“No leeches,” Gaius said, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Get some rest, Merlin.”

 

###

 

Arthur added another log to the fire grate, stoking the flames. “Better?”

 

Merlin nodded drowsily. “Nice of Morgana to send all that stuff.”

 

Arthur had to agree. Morgana had personally seen to the delivery, and if the guards wondered about the fire grate, the blankets and the food making their way into the dungeons, they weren’t fools enough to question the King’s ward. Uther, according to Morgana, was Not Happy about his son spending the Yule night in the dungeon, but Arthur was going to cross that bridge when he came to it.

 

He pulled his blanket more tightly around his shoulders. “When I was little,” he said, “we used to have a mummers play on Yule morning. The mummers would come into the great hall, do a dance and throw pastries and sweetmeats to us children. We used to fight over them.” He smiled reminiscently.

 

“Sounds like a tradition you would enjoy,” Merlin said hoarsely.

 

“Not as much as Morgana.” Arthur poked at the flames, making sparks fly up. “She usually came away with the lion’s share. We wouldn’t really fight her, what with her being a girl and all,” he added untruthfully. In those days, not a Yuletide had passed without her bloodying some poor squire’s nose over a bag of sugared almonds.

 

Merlin snorted, clearly not believing him. “So there aren’t any mummers these days?”

 

Arthur shook his head. “When I was ten, one of them was caught selling love potions to the ladies at court. My father had him beheaded the next day. After that, no more mummers.”

 

“Fun,” Merlin muttered. Arthur pretended not to have heard.

 

“What about you?”

 

“What about me?”

 

“Well...” Arthur was glad for the darkness; somehow, it was easier to talk that way. “Didn’t you have any Yule celebrations in Ealdor?”

 

“Oh.” Merlin smiled a little. “Yes. We did. Not so much food, of course. We shared around what we had. Usually all the neighbors got together to burn the Yule log and roast chestnuts. There was this Irish fellow, Father Cadoc, who’d come all the way from Rome. I don’t remember much of his stories, but he made the best gingerbread you’ve ever tasted.”

 

Arthur stared into the flames. “Do you miss them?”

 

Merlin didn’t answer for a long time, and Arthur almost thought he’d drifted off again. Then, “Yes. Every day, actually.” He paused. “I know what you’re thinking.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“‘You’re such a girl, Merlin’,” Merlin said in a fairly good imitation of Arthur. “Being homesick and all.”

 

“I don’t.”

 

“Yes, you do.”

 

“No, I don’t, _Mer_ lin.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Arthur added another log to the fire. “You should get some sleep. Gaius will bite my head off if he thinks I’ve kept you awake all night.”

 

“You _are_ keeping me awake.”

 

“Shut up, Merlin.”

 

###

 

“Here,” Arthur held the cup to Merlin’s mouth. “One more, come on.”

 

Merlin swallowed with difficulty, then let his head drop back on the mattress. His forehead glistened with sweat. “It – bloody – _hurts_.”

 

“The pain-numbing potion must have worn off,” Arthur said. “Do you need me to get Gaius?”

 

“No.” Merlin coughed, wincing at the movement. “No, he’ll just make a fuss. Let him sleep.”

 

“Fine, but if you get a fever, I’m getting him.”

 

Merlin winced again, muttering something that sounded like ‘bossy prat’. Arthur sat back down on his bit of floor (now padded with a soft pillow, courtesy of Morgana). He’d never nursed anyone before; had never even entertained the idea. He remembered a night when he’d been five, and so sick with lung fever that he wasn’t expected to survive until morning. Uther had sent the nanny away and sat with him, stroking his hair and telling him stories. For once, they’d been just father and son, not King and Crown Prince.

 

He poked at the flames, not wanting to look at Merlin when he asked his question. “What happened, Merlin?”

 

Merlin sighed. “Is it important?”

 

“I want to know.”

 

“Well… Eglan had sent me away, but told me to stay outside his chambers in case he needed something. He-”

 

“Wait.” Arthur sat up. “He told you to stand outside his door _all night_?”

 

Merlin gave a noncommittal grunt. “He seemed to think it was funny. Anyway, Lady Lynet came by and asked me what I was doing. I told her I was attending Eglan, and we talked a little. She said she was going to get me a blanket. Then Eglan came out; I think he heard us. He asked her to come in and share a nightcap with him. She – she didn’t really want to, but he just sort of made her. After a while, there was a sound like a chair falling over inside, and Lynet came running out of the room.” Merlin swallowed. “She was crying and said Eglan… Eglan had done something. She wouldn’t say what. She was crying so much, and I just didn’t know what to do…”

 

“So you hugged her,” Arthur sighed. He didn’t need to be told; he could _see_ it happening.

 

“Yeah,” Merlin said defensively. “What was I supposed to do?”

 

“You _weren’t_ supposed to hug a noblewoman with her husband and brother-in-law just round the corner,” Arthur said, wondering how Merlin had survived until this day.

 

“Well, if I hadn’t been advertised as the worst manservant ever and loaned out like a pair of old boots, I wouldn’t have had the chance!”

 

Arthur bit down on his retort. Merlin was right, and he knew that for once, he should probably say so out loud. “I shouldn’t have done that, Merlin, and I’m sorry.”

 

Merlin smiled - not quite his usual funky grin, but getting there. “So you’ve said. Repeatedly, if I recall. I’m beginning to wonder what was in that concoction Gaius gave me.”

 

“I’m trying to apologize, you idiot.”

 

“I know.”

 

“And I probably shouldn’t have given you that face wash yesterday. It _was_ really cold out.”

 

“It was, actually. So you’re saying you’re _sorry_ for that, too?”

 

“Merlin?”

 

“Shut up,” they said together.

 

###

 

Yule morning dawned bright and cold, more so in the dungeons than anywhere else in the castle. Arthur had drifted from sleep to waking and back again, climbing to his feet once in a while to check on Merlin and make sure his condition had not worsened. He’d had the sort of strange dreams that could be expected from such fitful sleeping – at one point, he’d dreamt that Merlin’s eyes glowed gold and the flames in the grate rekindled as if by magic. He must have stoked the fire himself and forgotten about it, for it burned bright and merry whenever he woke.

 

Merlin did not look well in the pale light of morning. He looked, in fact, like death warmed over, and only grimaced weakly when Arthur told him so.

 

“But it seems your wounds haven’t become infected,” Arthur added bracingly. Truth was, Merlin’s back looked horrible, deeply bruised and covered in thick swollen welts, but there was no need to belabor the obvious.

 

“Y-you wouldn’t have any mulled wine on you?” Merlin muttered. “I’d like to get pissed.”

 

“Not today, you’re not,” Arthur said firmly. “Gaius wouldn’t like that at all. Can you sit up?”

 

“If it means I can get out of here, then yes.”

 

They made their way to the door, Merlin leaning heavily on Arthur’s arm. The guards had not locked the cell; they didn’t seem to have dared, given that the Prince was spending the night inside. Arthur helped Merlin up the stairs, pausing every dozen steps or so when Merlin seemed close to passing out. The castle was abuzz with early-morning preparations for the Yule day, people rushing about carrying bath water, garlands and table linen. Every servant they met gave them the same wide-eyed stare and belated curtsey or bow when they realized that it was indeed Prince Arthur dragging poor Merlin through the corridors. Arthur was surprised how little he cared. All he wanted was to get Merlin to Gaius, where he could lie down in an actual bedroom rather than a stone-cold dungeon cell.

 

Gaius looked as if he, too, had slept only briefly. With a distracted nod at Arthur, he began to check Merlin’s back, tutting and fussing in a rather terrifying manner, then ordering Merlin straight to bed.

 

Arthur helped him into his little room, which was as messy as it had been the first time Arthur had seen it. He was surprised when he glimpsed a rather heavy tome lying on Merlin’s bed – it didn’t look like the kind of silly fairytale romance Merlin would read before going to sleep. Just when Arthur was about to pick it up, Gaius dropped a tray he’d been holding, and after that, the book had mysteriously disappeared.

 

They helped Merlin into bed, and Gaius began to apply more of his healing salve. Exhausted from the walk, Merlin complained only briefly, then closed his eyes and seemed to go to sleep.

 

Arthur looked around the room, at the scattered things, the drab little bed, the collection of colorful rocks and snail shells on the window ledge that was just so Merlin. He’d had few friends in his life – admirers and bootlickers, yes, but not friends – and right now all he wanted to do was stay here in this messy room, wait until Merlin woke up, annoy him a little and maybe ask him about that book. He didn’t care if all they did was play a few rounds of dice. This was how Arthur wanted to spend his Yule morning – with a friend.

 

He knew that he could not, though. His father was waiting, and more likely than not had a lecture ready on a Crown Prince’s duties and obligations (which, in Uther’s eyes, did not include spending his nights in dungeon cells watching over a hapless manservant). There would be more food, more wine, more speeches, and Arthur would be lucky if he could escape before nightfall.

 

“Sire?”

 

He looked up, and saw Gaius standing in the door.

 

“Sire, the King is asking for you. He wants you to give Prince Eglan a tour of the armory.”

 

Arthur sighed. “I should be going then. Gaius?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You’ll let me know how he’s doing, won’t you?”

 

The old man looked at him, his eyes strangely soft. “Of course I will.”

 

Arthur nodded and, glancing back at Merlin once more, began to walk to the door. It had to be enough… for now.

 

 

Epilogue

 

“You know,” Merlin said conversationally, “I could have had her down in a second with a simple summoning spell. There was no need to strain your old bones climbing that tree.”

 

Arthur Pendragon, once and future King of Albion, tried to look as dignified as he could with a tiny black-and-white kitten clutched to his chest. “You might have botched the spell. I couldn’t risk it.”

 

He handed the kitten to Bodicia, Percival’s youngest granddaughter and apple of his eye. “Take good care of her, and don’t let her climb any more trees.”

 

Bodicia beamed at him. “Thank you, sire!”

 

Merlin smiled as he watched her race off across the courtyard. Snow had fallen heavily overnight, covering Camelot’s many turrets and towers with a blanket of white. Yuletide was almost upon the land.

 

Arthur leaned against the tree, gazing into the distance.

 

“You’re not brooding again, are you?” Merlin asked.

 

“Just thinking.”

 

“You know that’s not good for you.” Merlin grinned, and a moment later ducked as a snowball came flying his way. The second time he was not so lucky, and it was Arthur’s turn to grin.

 

“Reflexes getting a bit rusty in your old age, _Mer_ lin?”

 

There was a moment, right then, when he remembered another snowy day, a crowd gathered in the courtyard and a joke gone horribly wrong. It was strange, how well he recalled those events when they had happened so many years ago. Eglan had long since fallen in battle, Lynet was queen and the scars on Merlin’s back had (almost) faded. The memories had not.

 

“Arthur?”

 

He turned around. For a second, he didn’t see Merlin the Court Sorcerer, all long black robes and venerable beard, but a gangly young man in a brown jacket and one of those silly neckerchiefs. And then, Merlin laughed, and Arthur thought that there wasn’t really any difference, after all.


End file.
